


Pur Ti Miro (Discontinued)

by wintermelonbubbletea



Category: TwoSet, Video Blogging RPF, twoset violin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Future, Childhood Friends, Classical Music, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Future, Future Fic, Inspired by Music, M/M, Musicians, Operas, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Violins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintermelonbubbletea/pseuds/wintermelonbubbletea
Summary: A violinist and a singer meet again after five years. Despite complications in their personal lives, will their delayed romance finally blend in a harmonious cadence?Set in 2026 with some flashbacks to 2021, this story uses references from social issues that has happened at the time of writing.Note: This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction — or fiction, in general — and this work is turning out to be a lengthy, slow burn, one. I shift perspectives throughout the piece as some form of experiment and to also bring voice to the characters.As I am a newbie in this genre and the fandom, I would greatly appreciate your feedback. Thank you!(UPDATE 7 OCTOBER 2020: I am abandoning this work. I'm not confident with how it turned out, and I may be taking a different direction from where I began. Still, I enjoyed the process and learned a lot about writing fiction. I might try again sometime. Thanks for all the support!)
Relationships: Brett Yang/Original Character(s), Eddy Chen & Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction — or fiction, in general. I am not a musician, so I may be getting some terminologies wrong, and I will appreciate correction and feedback.
> 
> As of this writing (Chapter 1), I am not quite sure yet how the story will go. For sure, there will be Breddy moments, but who ends up with whom is still unclear even to myself. I am of the assumption that this will be a lengthy work.
> 
> I just write and wait for the story to reveal itself.
> 
> Enjoy!

Her footsteps, consistent in rhythm, echo in the empty hallway of the university. The pair of three-inch nude stilettos clacking amid the rather quiet afternoon illustrates the confidence of the poised, svelte woman. But it’s all feigned confidence, and no one knows but her. 

Only she can hear the fast pulses in her chest. With every step, her thoughts run amok. 

_What is she doing here?_

_It’s clear she does not belong in this place._

She imagines these are the same thoughts of a young cellist who catches a glimpse of her as he exited the practice room he had booked for two hours but only actually used for half an hour. (Hah! Here’s someone who’s been pracrastinating.)

The woman’s pink blazer makes the rest of her attire — a casual fitted white top and denim pants — look regal. Her long, black hair sways in the sides of her shoulders with every stride. Everybody else in the conservatory wears button-down shirts and loose dresses; she’s clearly an outlier. 

Finally, the woman stops at the end of a corridor. Room 303. Resting her left cheek on the edge of the closed door, she peeks through the rectangular glass panel. The esteemed maestro, wearing a light blue long-sleeved shirt that folded up to his elbows, is waving his baton at the front and center of the spacious hall.

She was cautious that no one inside the room sees her. The least she wants at that moment is to call attention to herself. _She isn’t ready. Not yet._

Heaving, she rests her back on the wall. Inhale. Exhale. One. Inhale. Exhale. Two. The waiting calms her. Inhale. Exhale. Three. There is no need to look through the door again. Inhale. Exhale. Four. Though faint, music from the rehearsing orchestra can be heard from where she stands. 

Realizing how she began slouching, the woman adjusts her posture and composes herself. To a stranger’s eye, she embodies serene self-assurance. Within her, it’s all creeping self-doubt. The woman, already in her 30s yet still looking a decade younger, brings out her phone at about the same time the silence emanated from the practice hall. 

That’s her cue. She knocks, softly, then waves her hand to call the attention of the conductor. The gentle-looking maestro gestures her to come in. 

As soon as she enters the large hall, with nary a hum or murmur, her presence commanded the ensemble. All eyes are on her. Perhaps it’s awe and curiosity from these musicians with whom she will be working for the first time — she’s not sure but she may have seen the percussionist wink at her — yet, to her, it feels like surveillance. She hides the unease with a warm smile, as she meekly bows to greet her new colleagues. 

With his left hand, the maestro points toward the woman in pink, then addresses the big group: “This is Aimee. She’s the soprano I’ve been telling you about. She’s been in this conservatory for only six months, taking the special program, but due to her talent is granted a slot in our midsummer recital.”

_This is real._

The woman reminds herself. 

She can feel her heartbeat rushing; whether it was borne out of excitement or anxiety, she hid it well. She takes an audibly deep breath first, then she looks at the new faces in the crowd, scanning from her and the maestro’s right, moving her gaze toward the concertmaster on her left, like a royalty asserting her place among her subjects. 

In her mind, however, everything is a blur. What she wanted was reprieve from all the eyes intently looking at her. As she fumbled for words, her right hand finds comfort inside her jacket’s side pocket. No one can see how her pointer finger has begun picking the side of her thumbnail.

_What is she doing here?_

_It’s clear she does not belong in this place._

“Hi, everyone,” she takes the plunge.

“As Maestro mentioned, I’ve enrolled only in the six-month program. I’m not really from here, and I have no plans of being in this profession, so please don’t expect too much from me. I know only a few things about theory. I can’t even read sheet music. I just happen to enjoy singing, that’s why I’m here.” Her velvety voice is music to those who can hear it. She’s singing cheery tunes without even realizing it.

“I’m an adult beginner who’s never had serious formal training ‘til now. But I will do my best in this performance. And I hope we all enjoy the brief moment we’ll be working together.” She ends with a wide grin. 

The orchestra consists of musicians from across all ages. While there are a few conservatory students on contract to earn extra income and gain some experiences, most are professionals moonlighting as teachers in their respective instruments.

As far as she knows, the recital is a big event. It will run for three hours for five consecutive days. Some will perform concertos, and others, like her, will sing opera arias. Such repertoire, with a much-celebrated symphony orchestra, is the most obvious way of showcasing talent. This is the music student’s dream. Not everyone gets a chance at it, but she did. _This is real._

For sure, these musicians have been practicing for months. Like she did. They have to be in tune and on time through all the passages of the many pieces they will be performing. 

Her first of two arias is from Purcell’s opera Dido and Aeneas: the somber “Dido’s Lament”.

She takes it as a sentimental choice. After all, it was the first opera aria she ever heard. That was six years ago. She tried to study and learn it by ear on her own. Now, she gets to perform the piece that was witness to her growth from a passive appreciator of classical music to a trained soprano.

The second aria is “Liebestod”, the culminating piece in Wagner’s revolutionary Tristan und Isolde, which finally resolves the curious chord four hours since it is first heard in the opera.

As she made the announcement, she can’t help but notice some of her new peers growing wide-eyed. What a contrasting, interesting repertoire. Both fiddling with longing, yes, but one takes flight and the other weighs down. 

What courage for someone performing on stage for the first time, with less than a year’s worth of training, when all others spend a lifetime trying to perfect their technique.

The maestro picks up the baton, the woman turns her back against the orchestra, and the musicians await their cues. Within a few beats, the magic comes alive.

Aimee’s singing ebbs and flows like ocean waves, portraying with sound the heartbreaking end of Dido and the bittersweet tragedy of Isolde.

No one expects the first pass to be perfect. The soloist and the orchestra are only getting to know each other at this point. But, oh, boy! Time seemed to have stopped in that room.

The miracle that is Aimee, a siren that takes away the breath of those who hear her voice, astounded everyone, including the maestro who has already heard her sing before today. Everyone, but the songstress herself. 

She sighs. She nearly ran out of breath in the lingering high notes. In some parts, her throat felt strained. I will have to keep practicing, she reminds herself.

She turns to face her stunned ensemble, still quiet in awe of her and she doesn’t even notice. Her eyes scans the room for any critique, but what she finds she hadn’t expected to see — 

A violinist about the same age as her with similar almond-shaped Asian eyes. The fringes of his hair almost, but not quite, touching the frame of his thick glasses. Eyes squinting a bit, face forward, as he scribbles on the sheet music with a pencil. His physique, all too familiar. His Ling Ling shirt, a dead giveaway.

— it’s Brett. 

She wonders if he even recognized her. •


	2. Vivace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brett harks back to his memory from five years ago of Aimee, whom Eddy wanted to be part of TwoSet Violin.

The hour-long rehearsal with the soprano is Brett’s last musician-duty for the day. 

_But do musicians ever stop being musicians when they aren’t playing? Isn’t the mere act of living — an accumulation of experiences — part of practicing?_ Brett catches himself overthinking again. 

As he keeps his 1952 Scrollavezza violin into its black case, he overhears one percussionist talking to a couple of wind players. 

“She’s cute.” 

“Nah, bro. She’s out of your league.”

“I’d take my chance anyway.”

“So you’re asking her out?”

If today were like any other day, Brett would’ve approached his colleagues to spend the rest of the afternoon with them. The bespectacled guy, who’s turning 33 in a few weeks, just loves talking. Uplifting everyone’s moods is as natural to him as breathing. He’s a high-pitched laugh track occupying 170 centimeters of horizontal space. 

But today is no ordinary day. 

Brett takes his phone out of his pocket to message his best friend, Eddy. The duo — more known for their YouTube moniker _TwoSet Violin_ — have known each other for about a third of their lives now and somehow they still aren’t tired of each other’s company. Such friendship is a rare treasure. Many envy them.

“DUDE!!!!!!!” Brett couldn’t have sent a more enthusiastic text message.

It’s hard to imagine seeing her again. _Has she been in Australia all along? Since when? For how long?_

During rehearsals, since he saw her walk into the room, the violinist tried so hard to avoid eye contact. If he looked at her, even for a split-second, and their eyes met, he was certain he wouldn’t have been able to focus on his music. 

Brett bids his usual jolly goodbye to his friends then hurriedly leaves, making it appear as if he were rushing to make it to another engagement. That way, no one asks. It’s a blip in an orchestral musician’s routine, yes, but it’s still somehow usual. 

“C’mon, Eddy. Why aren’t you replying!” Brett paces down the stairs as his thoughts race. Every five steps or so, he looks at his phone. Having learned his lesson from a booboo many years ago, back when he was a rookie musician whose phone rang in the middle of a piano part in rehearsals, Brett has kept his gadgets on permanent silent mode. But this time, he worries he’d miss Eddy’s text, or call, or reply — _whatever it is, please, Eddy, make this phone churn a notification._

When the two violinists met Aimee five years ago, Eddy pondered on making her an addition to the video channel they formed in 2014 as stressed-out conservatory students, which has eventually grown into a community of millions of musicians and classical music fans (called Ling Ling wannabes) all over the world. Aimee, with her background in television work, would’ve been an invaluable consultant. 

More than Aimee’s professional insights, however, Eddy valued the new friendship and company. Not only is she easy to get along with, but Aimee also blends effortlessly with the both of them. The same passion for music. The inspiring belief that there’s a bigger purpose in life. The dry humor, though she’s often at the receiving end of the guys’ jokes. The nuggets of wisdom that helped motivate them to strive to be better than they were yesterday. 

Eddy liked her — but five years ago, when she came into their lives, Aimee was on a holiday for only eight days. The only thing they could do was make the most out of their time with her. Distance is an enemy Eddy wasn’t brave enough to face. _Is he any braver now?_

Brett can’t help but smile. Having known Eddy since high school, he knows his best friend will be elated by the news, and the suspense is killing him! Although they rarely spoke about Aimee throughout these years, Brett never really forgot about her and he’s sure his younger friend is the same.

Only five steps away from the exit gate, Brett stops his stirring and looks behind him. 

Heading toward him is the same woman occupying his thoughts, still wearing the crisp blazer that singles her out in the sea of summer students. •


	3. Da Capo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reminiscing the blossoming of their friendship in a milk tea shop where they first met, Brett and Aimee go back to where it all began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew inspiration for this chapter from a few Instagram Stories posted by Brett and Eddy: those no-context cups of coffee pictures, and the 2020 New Year’s clip when they ordered bubble tea and 143 was their queue number. (The latter I only faintly recall. It may have happened differently, and my fertile mind embellished it.) 
> 
> As you may have gleaned from my username, I share the love of bubble tea with Brett and Eddy. Let this be my tribute to the best drink ever invented. *wink*

“Hey! You’re Brett from TwoSet, right?”

The male violinist turns his head with a fake smile. Those six words take him by surprise.

_ How does one react when someone you know so well — or used to know — seems to have forgotten about you? Do friends become strangers by not seeing each other? _

The woman in heels, now standing at the same height as the older man, stares at him, waiting for a reply. Whatever he says now will determine their future interactions, and she’s hoping she won’t be just another soloist who passes by his life only for the sake of a performance. 

Brett decides to play it safe. “Yeah! By the way, you were really great earlier. We were all astonished!” This is their first conversation after an uncomfortable silence that spanned five years.  _ How can it be any less awkward?  _

“Thanks!” The singer smiles back, but it was not the response she expected to hear. “I guess you don’t remember me then,” she shrugs and whispers, but her disappointed tone was audible. 

That’s his cue. His eyes widen. His deep voice picks up a higher pitch. “Of course I remember you, Aimee! How can I forget?”

Aimee’s face brightens up. 

“Do you have plans tonight? Wanna go to that milk tea place where we met, uh, six, five years ago?”

“Sure! That’ll be nice.”

* * *

Eyes staring blankly, face looking pale and white, Aimee stood by the receiving counter as she waited for her wintermelon bubble tea.

The barista placed the plastic cover over the large cup then pushed a button on the table. The number 143 flashed on the screen. 

Just as she stretched her right hand to receive her quencher, a man from her left side grabbed the plastic cup. They were both surprised. The man, who looked about the same age as her, observed her for a few seconds. Her furrowed eyebrows met in a single line. In unison, their eyes scrutinized their respective receipts then eagerly showed the piece of paper to the other person. 

Both man and woman were confused. Separately, they ordered a large wintermelon bubble tea with extra tapioca pearls, yet their billings both showed 143.

“Must be a glitch in the system. We’re sorry for this inconvenience. I’ll make sure to report this to IT. Please wait and I’ll prepare the other wintermelon bubble tea for you,” the male staff said.

“No problem, Jack.” she livened up her voice, but her sweet-looking face couldn’t hide the dismay. The taller man wondered how she knew his name.  _ Is she a regular here? _

“Hey! Uh, you can take this,” the man said. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll just wait for the other one.”

Aimee returned the kindness with a gentle thanks, but she was too preoccupied to even bother looking up at his face. She went back to her seat where she left her two luggage and a backpack. She took her MacBook out, plugged her earphones, and fell silent.

A little while later, a familiar voice spoke to her. “Hi. Is this seat taken? Everywhere else is occupied.”

She removed her backpack from the otherwise empty chair and set it on her lap. “No, not really. Please have a seat. I don’t mind.” The sound of her voice jived with the noise of her computer keyboard as she typed away.

It took maybe five seconds until she glanced back at the face of the stranger, who was now sitting in front of her with eyes twinkling as he sipped his milk tea. The woman in her late 20s squinted, first to shake off the exhaustion from a long-haul flight, then in utter disbelief.

“Brett! Of TwoSet Violin!”

She might have spoken too loudly. In embarrassment, she lowered her voice. “It’s you, right?”

* * *

Eyes on the road, hands on the steering wheel, Brett laughs boisterously. “You looked very tired then! I wasn’t sure if you would engage in small talk. You know, it took you a while to recognize me. And it’s funny because from the counter I already knew you were a fan because you were wearing our limited edition 2-mil-subs Tchaik shirt!”

“When we were comparing receipts, I was waiting for you to recognize me. But you didn’t. So I thought maybe you were gifted that shirt and aren’t really familiar with us,” he continues. 

Aimee, sitting on the passenger seat, turns red. “Exactly why I was there! I badly needed the sugar rush, duh!”

The two friends who have long been apart relish each other’s company with nostalgia and hearty laughters.

“It took me several months and follow-up emails to get that shirt. Terrible delay because of the pandemic. I thought I’d never get what I paid for.”

“Really? You never told us that story.”

“Haven’t I? You nearly lost a fan there!” she chuckles. “Well, I emailed TwoSet Apparel support and they were gracious and helpful.”

Brett, co-owner of the apparel company catering to musicians, smirks.

“Your staff deserve a raise!”

“I’ll let Eddy know!”

_ Is this man even aware his pitch goes higher when he’s excited or having too much fun? _ Aimee has always liked seeing him this way.

* * *

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice you earlier. I was —”

Brett didn’t even allow her to finish her apology. “Don’t worry about it. You looked like you needed sleep.” He laughed. It’s the same animated laughter from their YouTube videos, only this time she was hearing it live.

Seeing the suitcases surrounding his new acquaintance, the violinist couldn’t help but ask, “So where are you headed?”

“Oh, I arrived this morning. I’m waiting for the hotel check-in, but I saw this place and thought I’d hang out here.” The younger woman removed her earphones and closed her laptop. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean to bother you. You can go on with whatever you’re doing.”

“I just finished my work so it’s fine.”

“Great,” there was something drawing Brett to this woman.  _ Could it simply be curiosity?  _ It’s the first time he met a female fan — and actually talking and sitting next to her — who didn’t swoon or fluster at the sight of him. Brett and his best friend Eddy were both aware their fans have the tendency to be rabid and a bit too enthusiastic. It took some getting used to; all the attention made them uncomfortable at first, but they deeply appreciate and love their fans. 

“I see. Where have you been? And what brings you here in Brisbane?”

Her eyes gleamed. “It’s a long story. Do you have time for it?”

_ This is unusual,  _ Brett thought. The fans they got to meet were often either excited and inquisitive or shy and awkward. Brett and Eddy would usually do most of the talking to help make their fans at ease, but the woman before her was calm and steady.

“I do. Please go on and tell me your story.” 

The woman took a sip of bubble tea. Water droplets outside her cup trickled down. She was about to say her first word when Brett interrupted her. 

“I’m sorry. Before you start, may I just borrow your bubble tea so I could take a picture of these two,” referring to the 143 stickers on both of their cups. 

“And post it on social media? What a tease!” The woman rolled her eyes and chuckled.

“Shush!” Brett grinned from ear to ear as he was looking down and typing on his phone. “Sorry about that. Please continue.”

”I haven’t even started yet!” Her giggles felt warm. Brett couldn’t keep himself from smiling. She then talked about Iran where she had recently been for work. As a journalist, she investigated and reported about the true impact of the pandemic in the country, one that’s been allegedly censored by the government in the midst of the global health crisis. Her words flowed like musical phrases to Brett’s ears. Even for someone who couldn’t care less about politics, Brett yearned to learn more about the situation.

Their conversation went smoothly from one topic to the next that they hardly noticed time passing by until a phone ring broke the harmony in their laughter. It was Eddy. The woman fell silent to let Brett take the call. 

“Hey, uhm, I hope you don’t think I’m crazy or anything, but I’m meeting Eddy in a bit. If you have no plans today, maybe you’d like to join us?”

The woman didn’t expect this. She’s been a TwoSet Violin fan for years, but while she has always wanted to meet the two classical musicians, life got in the way: work had made her terribly busy, and the violinists’ world tour was postponed due to the coronavirus disease outbreak.

“We’re filming some stuff, but I promise I’ll bring you to your hotel after.”

“Are you kidding me?” Her exuberant tone was like a breaking character. “Of course! I’d love to!”

The two new friends stood up. Before Brett got hold of the woman’s luggage to help her load her things into his car, she asked for a favor:  _ a selfie, please, to remember this moment by. _

They held their cups, both nearly empty and identified with 143, and posed for a picture. “Don’t worry, I won’t be posting this and counter your social media strategy,” she winked.

_ For all you know, that post wasn’t for the fans but for Eddy.  _

* * *

The unexpected catch-up took hours of reminiscing. Finally, Brett assists Aimee out of her chair like a true gentleman.

“What happened? You were never this formal!”

“I know! I even forgot to ask your name the first time we met!”

The singer and violinist spend the entire time laughing, pausing only to exchange a few words, only to then laugh again. It’s as if the five years of losing touch with each other are a figment of the imagination.

Aimee gives Brett a quick hug by her doorstep after he drops her off her apartment. He leaves smiling at the knowledge they will be seeing each other again tomorrow for the rehearsals.

But there’s a nagging feeling he may have forgotten something. Upon arriving home, he checks his phone: 37 missed calls from Eddy.

“Oh, shi—.” •


	4. Allegro Moderato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daydreams of Brett distract Eddy in his practice. Even if they would be apart for only a day, Eddy is frantic with worry when he reads Brett’s vague text message an hour late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my first attempt at creating a _fluff_ piece — I’m not even sure if I did it correctly — as well as the first time I’m writing in Eddy’s perspective. The previous chapters had been narrated through the eyes of Brett and Aimee. In writing this chapter, I realized I can “connect” with Brett more easily, perhaps because we are both *NFPs. (He is said to be an ENFP, while I am an INFP in the Myers-Briggs personality typing. I am not sure if it works that way, though. LOL.)
> 
> Please leave some feedback. It will mean a lot to fan fic newbie me.

Eddy forces himself out of bed. He has never been an early riser, unlike his best friend Brett, who regularly wakes up at 9 a.m. regardless of how much sleep he had the night or morning before, as if it were programmed in his body. 

The somnolent summer afternoon only makes it more difficult for the tall violinist to be productive, but he decides it will be a disservice to their millions of fans if he skips practice — TwoSet Violin’s catchphrase. 

He shuffles to the white-walled music room, where they also usually film their videos, and lays a notebook on the table. Scratching his nose, he begins writing a list of ideas for their growing channel’s future content:

> — A bubble tea-drinking video, like one of those “Never Have I Ever” games but something different. Fans like those. It’s been many years since we did something like it.
> 
> — If _______ Were A Film, similar to the one we made about Philip Glass’s “Opening”. But which piece?
> 
> — Schumann vs Brahms diss track (???). Maybe not a diss track because they were friends, but something about them fighting for the love of Clara. 
> 
> — Trying to make a violin, with the help of Olaf

“Bro, this will be so hard to make!” Eddy thinks out loud, addressing the image of Brett in his mind. Most of their waking hours are spent either physically together or communicating in whatever means. Over the years, they are like an extension of each other.

In a previous discussion, Brett and Eddy had agreed to uploading a more diverse content on their channel, giving the fans something to look forward to, some kind of a surprise in a sea of familiarity.

“We can’t keep roasting. We’re a classical music channel, not a roasting channel,” he remembers his older friend making the declaration. It’s a line they keep saying on their review videos, but they both know the frequency of their saying these words does not make it true.

Eddy laughs to himself. “Damn, I wish Brett were here.” He smiles, recalling an instance in the past when he had felt the same sense of frustration: that was when he had to make a “OneSet Violin” video because Brett came from the hospital and, due to health safety protocols, had to be quarantined. Their fans worried a lot despite his words of reassurance that Brett was fine. 

This is different though. They won’t be talking for only one day, as Brett had earlier reminded Eddy that he has a full rehearsal schedule. “Don’t think I’m ignoring you, bro. We’ll see each other the day after, anyway.”

That Brett auditioned for and got accepted in projects back in the orchestra surprised Eddy — his friend hadn’t informed him because he wasn’t sure he’d get in anyway — but he had always sensed an inkling this could happen. His more extroverted friend is always on the lookout for new experiences, and a decade of YouTube content creation can become routinary and boring, no matter how much they try to mix things up.

Eddy continues his list:

> — A collab with Hilary… but what? (This has to wait until the world tour.)
> 
> — Violin swap! We finger each other’s G strings — I mean, we play each other's violins!

Eddy smiles at the thought of the last item.

It takes him fifteen minutes to finish compiling his ideas for the video channel he shares with his long-time best friend. At the back of his mind, he hopes this productivity will make Brett proud. 

Eddy imagines telling Brett about this list tomorrow. “Man! These are all great!” Brett would have said, with a wide grin that the public rarely sees in their videos but he so often witnesses in their private moments.

Brett would run his fingers through his hair as he continued reading Eddy’s plans for their channel. The younger violinist would stare lovingly at the other’s eyes, yearning for some form of validation. He would marvel at the architecture of Brett’s nose, tracing every millimeter down to the pink, supple lips. 

Then, Brett would turn his face to Eddy and say, “I can’t believe you did all this!” His words were like hymns of angels to Eddy’s ears. He would plant his hand on Eddy’s shoulder, moving his friend closer to him.

Eddy bites the corner of his mouth to shake off the vivid daydream. “Time to practice!” he convinces himself. 

Eddy begins with half an hour of scales, the most boring yet essential part of his practice routine. Then, he takes his sheet music and flips to a difficult part in Sibelius’ only violin concerto. The duo will be playing an excerpt in their upcoming world tour as a treat to their fans. 

“They can’t understand that Sibelius is too hard!” Eddy whines for a while then composes himself to tackle the dreaded piece. 

Every few bars, Eddy pauses and thinks of what Brett could be doing now. He imagines his best friend in the practice hall alongside other orchestral musicians, his eyes intensely focused on the notes dancing on the staves in his sheet music, as he plucks the violin strings with his delicate fingers. _Oh, how he longs to be touched by those fingers._

Eddy sighs. 

This cycle of deliberate practice and wild imaginings took about three hours and Eddy hadn’t noticed. He finally stops because he’s feeling hungry. After packing his violin into its case, he checks his phone and is flustered that he missed Brett’s text message an hour ago. It reads: “DUDE!!!!!!!”

What the hell was that? No follow-up text. Couldn’t he have rung his phone instead?

Eddy becomes frantic. He blames himself for setting his phone on silent during practice time. He makes a mental note not to do this again, or at least make an exemption for Brett.

“Hey, what’s up?” he replies.

No immediate response.

“Sorry, I was busy practicing and didn't notice your text. Aren’t you supposed to be in rehearsals? You bum!” 

Eddy decides to wait for ten minutes. Brett must still be in rehearsals and is unable to check his phone. It’s on silent mode, probably. 

He checks every so often even as he entertains himself with the latest Smash Bros. But nada. That’s how his panic starts building up. He makes his first call. Brett’s phone rings but there’s no answer. 

Then, another call. And another. And another.

What could’ve happened to Brett? Beads of sweat appear on Eddy’s forehead and nose bridge. Unconsciously, he purses his lips in worry. He can feel his heartbeat racing and his mind swirling.

“Bro, pick up. I’m getting worried. Or at least send me a text if you’re still busy.”

“Heyyyyyy.”

“Where the hell are you, man?”

“What’s with the text?”

“DUDE!!!!! Answer the freakin’ phone!”

Knowing he couldn’t do anything because he has no idea where Brett is — rehearsals should’ve been over by now — Eddy tells himself if anything went awry, Brett would’ve called him immediately. Maybe this is a non-issue. One of those pranks. _Brett will have it tomorrow._ Eddy puts his right hand over his chest, mentally counting the tempo of his heart beat. “Dude, this isn’t healthy for me. Please call back.” Even in solitude, he holds back his tears. He knows he shouldn’t be feeling this intensely for a friend, even if he’s someone he has known for more than half his life. With these thoughts, Eddy falls asleep. 

It must’ve been hours of deep slumber when he wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing. Eddy jumps out of bed and picks up in a flash. “WHAT THE HELL, MAN! YOU CAN’T JUST SEND ONE TEXT WITH NO FOLLOW-UP, NO REPLY, NO CALL BACK.”

He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “I was so worried, you know.”

Brett, on the other line, just laughs at this impassioned greeting. “Woah, bro! Chill out, will you?”

Eddy hides his frustration with a coy grunt and lets Brett explain his side. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to take your call. You know, it’s on silent. I don’t even bother changing the settings now anymore. And I’m totally fine so don’t you worry. Anyway, it’s past midnight so I’ll save the story for later. You were probably sleeping before I called anyway. Just wanted to confirm we’re still on for tomorrow afternoon’s filming, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Tomorrow.” Eddy fakes the breathiness in his voice to give an illusion of drowsiness. 

“Great. See you then! I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Eddy’s eyes opened widely, and he cares not to make an audible gasp. _What surprise could that be? Was that why Brett had been out of reach for hours?_ Still, he can’t risk blowing off his facade. He pretends to be unaffected.

“Right, yeah. So tomorrow,” he fakes a yawn. “Bro, gotta sleep.”

“Yeah, sorry, man. Just wanted to let you know I’m fine, everything’s fine.”

“Good night, Brett.”

“Night, Eddy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eddy darts back to bed with a wide grin on his face. He can’t contain his excitement for what may come tomorrow. •

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I referred to some of TwoSet Violin’s videos in this chapter, and here’s a rough list of those mentioned in case you would want to check them out:
> 
> — “Never Have I Ever” Part 1: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HeteV01VwoQ  
> — “Never Have I Ever” Part 2: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IuarPovBZ1E  
> — If Philip Glass was a Film: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gPtd6gVgKo8  
> — Bach vs Beethoven diss track: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nj_Ysu-9djM  
> — Liszt vs Paganini diss track: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FkDIjxA9VcA  
> — “OneSet Violin” reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6a1HuXZo5-A  
> — “architecture of Brett’s nose” reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qe_CURcPto8
> 
> I may have missed some others on this list. If I did, please let me know so I can add them here. Thank you!


	5. Dal Segno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as how it happened five years ago, Brett brings an unannounced company to the filming of a new TwoSet Violin episode to surprise his best friend, Eddy.

After orchestra rehearsals, Brett drives to pick up Aimee from her apartment. The recently reunited friends have concocted a plan to surprise Eddy: TwoSet Violin is scheduled to film a new video today, and Brett is bringing a special guest without Eddy’s knowledge. 

He likes how this idea is much like a recapitulation of how Eddy and Aimee met for the first time five years ago.

* * *

Arriving at the Chen residence, Brett rang the doorbell. A few seconds passed until someone opened the door.

“Oh, it’s you. Come on in,” greeted Belle, Eddy’s only sister.

“Hi! What a surprise! I didn’t know you’re back here,” Brett replied. Belle has been residing in London where she has established a career as a pianist and sound artist.

“Only for a few weeks of holiday. Didn’t expect you guys would keep secrets from each other,” she chuckled, referring to how her younger brother, who’s been friends with Brett since adolescence, seemed to have forgotten to tell him about her arrival.

She raised her right hand and pointed to the room in the back with her thumb. “Go on now. You know where he is.” Tilting her head as she spoke these words, she noticed something — or someone — new.

“Hi, I’m Aimee. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Aimee. Belle, Eddy’s sister. I’m sorry I didn’t see you earlier. Come inside.”

As the two visitors walked in, Belle planted her arm over Brett’s shoulders. “Woah there, you finally got yourself a girlfriend.” She winked and, before Brett could reply, left.

“Bro! So today, I was thinking we could —” Eddy stopped. His confusion at Brett’s company overcame his initial excitement. Extending his hand to the unfamiliar face, the taller violinist introduced himself, “Hey! I’m Eddy.”

Brett introduced the lady beside him. “Eddy, this is Aimee. Aimee, you know Eddy.”

Eddy was smiling but he flashed a questioning look on his friend, as if to say, “Who’s this? Why is she here?”

Brett continued, “Aimee is a journalist who just came from — uh, was it Iran?” Aimee nodded. “Yeah, Iran. We met at the milk tea shop. She’s a fan and I invited her here so she can meet you, too.”

While he had always been a cool, affable guy to their fans, it was unlike Brett to be bringing someone with him to Eddy’s home. The two violinists value their privacy enough to be wary of possible antics from their followers. They wouldn’t even hire an applicant if they find out he or she was a rabid TwoSet supporter. 

Visibly apprehensive, Eddy let Aimee join in on the filming of their new video but not without making it clear first that she couldn’t post anything pre-emptive on social media. Brett and Aimee exchanged glances and smiled at the violinist’s interesting disclaimer. The woman, of course, understood Eddy’s discomfort so she took the effort to appease him the way she would approach interviewees, whether public personalities or ordinary people, in her news reports. Eventually, Eddy loosened up and the three would roar in laughter every so often.

Aimee enjoyed observing how the musicians did their production work. It was exciting to see what went on behind the scenes of a TwoSet Violin episode. There were a few things she wanted to comment on, but she thought it’d be better to keep them to herself. 

After wrapping up the video shoot, Eddy approached Aimee to ask her what she thought about the new episode and TwoSet Violin’s content in general. Drawing from her vast experience in production, Aimee pointed out what they’ve been doing well and a few minor details that could still be improved: among others, the camera focus, placement of lighting equipment, and their social media strategy. Brett saw how this made Eddy curious and took it as a sign that the two were getting along well. 

The journalist explained the reasoning behind her suggestions, careful that she wouldn’t sound imposing, and her insights impressed Eddy. His incessant questions became an informal brainstorming session littered with musicians’ inside jokes, and both Brett and Eddy were surprised that the media professional could catch on what they thought were too jargon and technical. During the discussion on production processes and content planning, Eddy couldn’t help but notice their new friend staring at the grand piano.

“Do you play?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, do you want to try?”

Aimee fell silent. In a split-second, hundreds of thoughts ran through her mind, not least of all:  _ What is she doing here? It’s clear she does not belong in this place. _

“I’m sorry, I really don’t —”

Brett cut her reply with encouraging words. “Just try. We promise won’t judge.”

Obliging, the woman sat on the bench and raised her right hand. Her fingers danced on the piano keys lissomely, producing familiar chords. The rhythm was off, the tempo was slower, but a musician’s ear could make no mistake: she was playing Chopin’s “Revolutionary Etude”. 

The violinists were stunned. Aimee stopped her playing, “Sorry, that’s all I know.” 

“I thought you didn’t play!”

“Yeah, I actually thought you would be pressing random keys!”

“I know! But you played freakin’ chords!”

“Not just chords! Chopin!”

“Not even ‘Fur Elise’ or ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’!”

“You liar!” the three bursted out laughing.

Brett and Eddy couldn’t contain their awe. They kept exclaiming how surprised they were until Eddy turned to Aimee. “Really, you have to tell us the story.”

Aimee took a deep breath then began narrating an experience from childhood. 

“I don’t play the piano, but my mom did. And this was the last piece she performed before she died.

“It was during one of her recitals. I was a child sitting among adult members of the audience. At the end of her encore — this piece — everybody stood and clapped and shouted. It was exciting to see my mother on stage being showered by such tremendous love from people we don’t even know.

“My father drove us home. My mother was in the passenger seat, and I was sleeping at the back. All I could remember was there had been an accident, and that’s how I lost them.” Aimee lowered her voice, “Because someone thought it was fine to be driving while drunk.”

The atmosphere in the room turned heavy. The men were sorry to hear Aimee’s story. “You don’t have to continue if it’s making you feel bad,” Brett told her.

But Aimee wanted to tell them the rest of what happened. All throughout her adult life, she had been listening to other people’s stories. No one cared to ask her about her own struggles until today. She longed to speak about how she woke up three weeks after the accident as an orphan who didn’t even have the opportunity to grieve for her parents during their wake. She pined for the opportunity to say she stayed with an older relative and this changed her life.

That day, though, was like any other day. Her sensitivity to other people’s non-verbal cues are one of the reasons that make her a great journalist. And it was clear to her that her anecdote bothered her listeners more than she was.

So she just smiled. 

* * *

Seated on the left of Brett, Aimee looks outside the window, wondering if Eddy still remembers her. Eddy has no idea she is back in Australia and that Brett had met her. Brett thinks bringing her to their filming session unannounced, as he did before, is an ingenious surprise.

Brett can’t help but grin widely. He knows that Eddy had always liked Aimee. Eddy didn’t have to tell him; their many years of friendship are enough proof of how they know each other well.

During those five years of losing contact with Aimee, Brett admits to himself he missed her. For sure, Eddy, too. 

As he frequents the Chen residence, Brett bypasses the usual social norms accorded to house guests. He no longer waits for anyone to open the door and invite him inside. Eddy unlocks it for him when he knows he’s on his way. When they arrived, Brett mechanically lets himself in, urging Aimee to follow but keep quiet, straight to the music room where Eddy waits.

Eddy is busy setting up the lighting equipment when Brett marches into the room and greets him. Preoccupied with the afternoon agenda, the taller violinist does not even bother to turn his face to his friend.

“Bro, do you think this set-up is good to go?” Eddy puts his hand over his head. 

“I don’t know,” Brett replies in his higher-than-usual pitch that he so often, unconsciously, uses when excited. “What do  _ you _ think?” directing the question to his company.

“I think the lighting at your left is stronger, you have to soften it a bit,” the female voice says. 

It’s a familiar voice, and Eddy thinks he is only being played by Brett. He turns around to ferret out what he thinks is another of those pranks, but what he finds is their old friend, in the flesh. He rushes to hug her.

With eyes closed, Eddy runs his hands at the back of Aimee. It takes the woman a few moments before she smiles then taps Eddy on his back. Brett congratulates himself for a plan well executed as he stares at the warm reunion of his two friends. 

Still, he wonders why his joy has an undertone of jealousy. 

_ He should be the one locked in that embrace. • _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Aimee is a fictional character, I thought it would be necessary to give her a backstory. _Why does she like classical music when she’s not a musician?_ Truly, something in her past must have drawn her to music. It must not be because she _studied_ or learned an instrument before and is picking up where she left off thanks to TwoSet Violin. In the first chapter, I wrote about how her knowledge of music theory is limited. There must be an underlying reason. 
> 
> In writing this story, I find myself exploring the deep sea of my unconscious. I let Aimee reveal herself to me. I let the characters bring me to where they want to be taken. And while I hadn’t expected a dark undertone in this story, I deem it a welcome development.
> 
> Having written five chapters so far, I think I’m only beginning to untangle this elaborate plot line. I still don’t know how this story will end, but I am excited to see how far this would go.


End file.
